


Devoted

by dmnutv_archer



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-08
Updated: 2011-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-24 10:09:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dmnutv_archer/pseuds/dmnutv_archer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malik reflects on what he had lost in exchange for all that he gained.<br/>Written for Assassin's Creed Big Bang Round One. This is a short sequel to Returned, set after the end of the story and before the epilogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devoted

_Altaïr leaned forward, looking into Malik’s eyes while brushing his three fingertips over what remained of Malik’s left arm. “Our scars... our flaws. They are part of who we are. I want you. All of you Malik.”_

Malik would always remember that first night they made love. It had also been the first time he allowed anyone to touch him there. Shamed and dishonored at being maimed, crippled, no longer an assassin, he nearly turned away from what, who, he had so desperately wanted. And worse, the man who knelt before him, tracing a disfigured hand over the healed remains of his left arm was the man he had held responsible. At that moment, when Altaïr revealed himself to possess compassion and empathy never bordering on pity, Malik truly forgave him. Beyond the forgiveness, that night Malik also accepted his own culpability for the tragedy that marred all of their lives.

Now, a few years later, he stood by the open window as the sky brightened with the coming dawn. Below, the sea, still an endless stretch of black in the dim light, broke gently over white sand. The hushed sound soothed him, and matched the soft breaths of the two who slept nearby.

How different his life would have been had he not lost his arm and nearly his brother that day.

They might all have been enslaved by the apple, and used as pawns in the greater game they now still sought to understand. Altaïr would not have rid the Brotherhood of Al Mualim, and would never have ascended to Grand Master. Likely they would all be long dead, their bones bleached white and crumbling to dust on a field of battle where no assassin belonged.

Malik shivered. Why did he torment himself with these thoughts? He was alive. Scarred, yes. But he would never choose to regain his arm if it meant losing all this.

He glanced back over his shoulder.

Kadar slept on his side, curled tightly in on himself as he often did. Nestled against him, Altaïr lay with one arm draped protectively over his waist. Both were unclothed and covered loosely by the linen sheet Malik had pulled over them when he rose to watch the sun’s rise.

Sighing, he turned back to the sea. The warm air flowed through the open window, carrying with it the heady fragrance of jasmine flowers, caressing his bare skin like the sensual touch of his lover.

He might never be fully at peace with the intimacy all three shared. Not that he begrudged either of them the time spent with each other. Altaïr’s devotion to his brother likely kept Kadar this side of sane. Most of the time. The damage done during Kadar’s imprisonment by the Templars after Solomon’s Temple had been permanent, and he would never be right. But at least he had this. And Altaïr needed Kadar as well. The uncomplicated bond they shared resonated with innocence and peace, and gave them both escape.

So very different from Malik and Altaïr. Theirs was a complex relationship. One of power and control, fueled by their personalities, and by their work. They often disagreed and those differences of opinion regarding issues within the Brotherhood spilled into their private lives. Always there was passion between them. Raw emotion. At times anger.

But through it all, the foundation of their life together never shifted. It remained solid, weathering the violent storms that would surely have broken others apart.

No doubt Kadar tempered their volatile connection. His presence alone gave both Malik and Altaïr cause to step back, set their egos aside, and think about what truly mattered to them.

The linen sheet rustled on the bed. Then, soft footsteps, those of a trained assassin, approached. Malik kept his attention on the ever brightening Cypriot landscape of sea and sky outside the window.

From behind, arms folded around him, hands firm against his bare skin. Altaïr touched a soft kiss to his cheek, then whispered, “The morning air feels good...”

Malik glanced aside, subtly leaning his face against Altaïr’s lips, grateful for the chance to push his tangled thoughts away.  
No amount of stress and strife and daily challenges could ever take this from them. The simple act of Altaïr holding him felt like profound and tangible proof that at the heart of their lives was their unshakable devotion. To each other. To Kadar. To this life they shared.

Altaïr gently dragged his teeth along the base of Malik’s neck, then followed with his tongue. “Does this feel good too?”

Stifling a moan, Malik reached back, gripping behind Altaïr’s waist and pulling them together. Altaïr rubbed his cock along the cleft of Malik’s ass, teasing. He trailed his hand up the length of Malik’s neck, then down the front of his chest, lingering over one nipple. Gently, he rolled it between a fingertip and his thumb. “Say it Malik... Tell me this feels good.” He closed his grip tighter, now pinching. The twin sensations of pain and pleasure bolted from Malik’s nipple straight to his groin.

“You know it does,” he shot back, his whisper harsh. But he allowed himself a smile, one Altaïr could not see. After the years together, they still played this game of control. It suited them both.

As his smile faded, he turned in Altaïr’s arms. Then he backed them both away from the window, staring into those amber eyes. “What are you going to do about it?” Not waiting for an answer, he slammed Altaïr against the wall, then kissed him, hard. Into their kiss, Altaïr moaned, grinding his erection against Malik’s.

How easy to push Altaïr onto the bed and take him right there. Instead, Malik pulled him toward the bathing room, away from where Kadar still slept.

Often the three of them shared their bed intimately. But this morning Malik needed Altaïr to himself. The introspective predawn hour he spent watching the sea and considering life left him in need of raw, stripped down gratification of his desire. Nothing they ever allowed themselves to experience when intimate with Kadar.

Inside the elaborately tiled bathing room, Malik spun Altaïr around, facing away from him. While he grabbed an open bottle of oil and dribbled some over his erection, he prodded Altaïr with one knee. “Stand against the wall.”

In silence, Altaïr splayed his hands across the tiles. But he stared back over his shoulder, those amber eyes now edged with fire, proof that his quick obedience came at a price to his pride. That further aroused Malik. He kneed Altaïr’s legs apart, then slid an oiled finger into his ass, none too gently. Altaïr pushed back, silent. Malik slid a second finger in, then a third, quickly making certain Altaïr was fully prepared. And still Altaïr refused to even moan.

Unable to contain his need, Malik yanked his fingers out, gripped his well oiled cock, and shoved it into Altaïr. Then he clutched his fingers around Altaïr’s hip and thrust deep, fucking him without mercy.

Altaïr’s hands on the wall alone kept them upright as Malik plowed into him.

“Harder?” Malik whispered against his ear, then nipping his neck.

That finally broke loose Altaïr’s iron hold over his voice. He moaned, “Ahhhhh...”

Wanting more, Malik taunted him, “You need this, don’t you?”

“Touch me...” he groaned.

Perfect. As close to begging as Malik would ever get from him. Still, he could not resist continuing this power play. “Not yet.”

Altaïr twisted his hips, obviously desperate for some friction against his cock. Smiling, Malik crept his fingers around, moving from Altaïr’s hip, along his waist, then dropping down. He paused, knowing this drove Altaïr insane.

Altaïr threw his head back. “Not begging...” he gasped.

Of course not. Nothing Malik could do would make Altaïr beg. This much submission pushed him far enough, at times even too far. But this morning, Malik found satisfaction in what Altaïr gave him and felt no need to press for more.

Using Altaïr’s back to brace him, he reached down and grasped Altaïr’s rigid cock. Stoking hard, in time with his own thrusts, Malik sought their mutual pleasure.

Altaïr gasped and moaned, his arms shaking with the effort to hold them both upright, and his fingers nearly bloodless as they pressed against the wall. That sight, and his glorious, throaty moans, brought Malik to the edge.

Suddenly, in his hand Altaïr’s cock spasmed, releasing against the tile wall. Malik thrust deep one last time, groaning as he too lost himself in a blindingly intense climax.

Altaïr’s strength finally gave out and they fell to the floor in a sated, tangled heap. Malik pressed a gentle kiss to Altaïr’s cheek. As he nestled his face against Altair’s neck, he noticed they were not alone.

Kadar leaned against the doorway, then slid to the floor, slowly massaging his now spent cock. Smiling, he sighed. “I never tire of watching you together.”

Malik opened his arm, welcoming his brother to join them. Kadar crawled across the floor and into their embrace. They rested entwined together, all three at peace.

Life, the difficult past, present challenges and the uncertain future, awaited. But once again that morning, Malik reflected that life was about balance. In exchange for his arm, and the many scars littering his body and soul, he had gained this. And the devotion they shared he would have always.


End file.
